Even when I’m ostensibly happy,
It’s entwined with motion beneath the surface.
This urge to be like him,
That I feel ever lured toward.

His words were worse than any blade,
Cutting deeper each day.
He fed off the thrill,
Scarring me still,
With malicious intent and heartless will.
Always going for the jugular,
Always aiming for the kill.

Will you stop me?
Save me?
Swear and make me,
All to help me be aware,
Of better lives and people who care?

That’s not what I need;
Sure as hell not what I want.
Don’t be naive.
It’s a friend,
With more to offer than
You.
Warm and reliable,
Ever accessible,
Completely undeniably,
Better.